Exasperating Females and the Trials of Theseus Scamander
by Ellen Fitzwilliam Brandybuck
Summary: They first met during the Great War, and he formed a crush on the elusive woman. They met again during his training as an Auror and it was her turn to be awed by him. Then there was the pain of misunderstanding years later. Now their paths have become intricately entangled as the world between Muggles and Wizards grows ever thinner, and he must protect this woman who defies all.
1. The Wound

_These are going to be more one-shots with a basic plotline involved. They aren't day-by-day stories for certain, and in fact, many years may go by in between. I own nothing by the OC. Please leave a review with your likes, dislikes, and preferences. I appreciate the reviews and look forward to responding to them with more story written. Cheers!_

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Theseus winced as her hands gripped the folds of cloth tighter. He tried to distract himself from the pain her wound dressing caused by detailing her features. Three sunspots along her left eye, right above her high cheekbone, probably the result of spending too much time outside without the appropriate protection—and from what he knew of her, by way of other lads telling stories, she did prefer to be outdoors. A slight wrinkle in her right eyebrow, a scar from of a ridiculous accident she had as a child—again a story he'd heard by way of an orderly who'd heard through one of her close confidantes. The scar's result being she nearly always looked like she was scouring you for the truth, even if you were gladly offering it up. A crooked nose from being broken what was it, two times now, once from a rowdy brother and once from a violently angry ex-beau—Theseus couldn't imagine what it was a woman could do to make a man seek to strike her, and assuredly couldn't imagine this woman, in particular, doing anything to merit such an act. Broad forehead, and angular chin that came to a point you could really grab hold of and shake if you wanted to risk losing your hand.

She wasn't gorgeous, definitely not the pin-up type, but she was beautiful in her own right. Perhaps it was the steel in her, in her words and actions, that was tempered with her raucous humor and no-nonsense kindness. In any effect, Theseus knew he could've had worse for a doctor than Helen O'Reilly, and he was grateful it was her strength cutting off the blood circulation in his wounded leg and not that of Gregory Holster, who had the arms of a chimpanzee and the power to match it

"You aren't going to rip my work to shreds, are you soldier?" Her voice was husky like brandy poured over ice smooth, and Theseus always found it pleasant to listen to. She finished off her work with a flourishing jerk, no doubt, to reiterate her emphasis that he was assuredly not to rip her work to shreds regardless of what life may bring.

Theseus rubbed his hands over the bandage on his thigh. He still hated being seen in his skivvies by a woman, but Dr. O'Reilly had a professional mannerism that made him feel as if he were a dime a dozen to her and so had nothing to be ashamed of or shy about. When they'd first brought him in, he'd hoped for Holster over O'Reilly, given the location of his wound on his upper left thigh. But then as he'd sat in the waiting area listening to the orderlies coming and going, and their chatter about working for either O'Reilly or Holster, he'd decided that despite the social discomfort he'd rather O'Reilly, and he'd thanked his stars when it had turned out to be that way.

"I don't plan on it, anyway, Dr. O'Reilly." He offered her a smile and got a brief hint of one in return before the mask of professional disinterest fell back into place on her features.

He'd seen her genuinely smile and laugh but once in all the time he'd known her, and the occasion had not involved him. Theseus had just returned from the front lines and had been making his way to the tavern in town for a real meal when he'd heard laughter, and hers had rung out, especially as it had been the only female laughter. She had been in a group of medical personnel coming out of the tavern as he'd been about to go in and either she'd said something or someone else had said something to prompt the raucous response, but the group had all but fallen en masse out of the tavern onto the street.

Theseus had been the one to help her right herself on her wobbly legs, and as he did this they had made eye contact just briefly, while her lips had still been pulled back in a joyous grin, and Theseus remembered thinking that perhaps she was one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen. A flicker of recognition had crossed her features at that moment, but then it was over, and she and her group were hurrying along the road back towards the medical area they'd quartered off in town, and he'd been left speechless by the swinging tavern door.

"How did you manage to be the only one hit, soldier?" She had moved to clean up the area and ready herself for her next patient, leaving him to struggle back into his britches and move out of the way.

"I don't know what you mean," Theseus hopped along on one leg and nearly toppled off in his efforts to hurry. He felt a warm and firm hand on his elbow and looked up to see that she had paused in her movements long enough to steady him. He felt warmth spread in his cheeks, and he gave a sheepish head nod before taking advantage of her help and pulling his britches on fully. "Men are indiscriminately shot every day. You of all people-" he stopped.

She stepped away and curtly nodded, "Yes, I of all people know the nature of the horrors you all face out there. I've been out there a time or two myself when it was necessary." He could see the ghosts dancing in her eyes until she blinked them away and her firm resolve was back again. "I meant, everyone else in your group reported a barrage of bullets suddenly hailing on them like mosquitoes, and yet only you have one graze wound."

Theseus felt his hackles rise, as they always did when a Muggle got close to the truth of who he was. He typically only worked with other wizards who'd defied the order to remain neutral during the war, but there had been a few skirmishes he'd been ordered to fight alongside regular Muggles, and it had been in those instances that things tended to get dicey with how well he kept his magic hidden. Only one or two other Muggles knew of his true abilities, but those were his close comrades, and they'd take the truth with them to their grave. None of the officers and certainly none of the medical personnel knew. He hadn't realized that O'Reilly would check the reports of each wounded. He swallowed and fought for words that would form into a cohesive lie.

"O'Reilly!" Holster popped his head through the door, his face covered in a sheen of sweat. "Could do with some help on this latest lad. I've got a spot of hemorrhaging I've yet to get a hold on. "

Theseus audibly let out the breath he'd been holding but drew back quickly when he felt O'Reilly's eyes scrutinizing him. She stood and grabbed her gear but stopped at the door to give him one more thorough look.

"Next time, stop the bullet for yourself too, will ya?"

And with that, she was gone.


	2. The Morning After

_As I mentioned before, this is not a day-by-day story. I will alternate POV between Theseus and my OC Helen from chapter to chapter. If you have requests for future scenes, song prompts, or critiques, feel free to leave them in a review or PM me. Thank you for your support, and I hope you enjoy. Cheers!_

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Helen woke confused, pissed off, and in pain. She knew exactly why she was in pain—drinking nearly an entire bottle of gin by herself had been unwise. She also knew why she was pissed off—being unable to save the boy's life despite all her efforts, and with Holster's aid too, had been the straw that broke her camel's back. The confusion, however, came from the lack of recognition of her current location.

Helen was slow in turning her head from one side to another. She was in a cheap room wherever she was and could hear the sounds of the occupants on either side. The walls were so thin. Based on the color coordination of the décor, the stale smell of the air, and the general "feel" of the atmosphere, Helen deduced that it was one of the cheaper inns in town. She certainly didn't remember paying for a room from the night before, and neither did she need to considering her own accommodations at the hospital quarter of the town, but here she lay, in a cheap room, bordered on either side by the sounds of desperate lovemaking.

It was either early morning or early evening, according to the light quality filtering through the thin curtains covering the tiny window opposite her bed. Her head throbbing, Helen looked around until her eyes fell upon a pitcher of water and accompanying glass sitting on the rickety bedside stand close to her bed. She pressed the heel of her hand to her right temple, and she raised herself to lean against the headboard. Helen waited until the room stopped spinning from her first tentative movements before she reached for the pitcher and moved with more consideration that normal to pour herself a glass of water.

She didn't guzzle, knew better than to do that, but instead sipped at the refreshing liquid until she imagined she felt her cells rejuvenate. Only once she felt this reviving wave flow from her toes to her head, making the throbbing ease a bit, did Helen take the time to study the room more carefully. She was still clothed in the same dirty, smelly clothing she'd been wearing when she'd first bought the bottle of gin and decided it was her new best friend. The only things missing were her shoes, but she spied them sitting on the floor under a lonely chair in front of the vanity mirror adjacent to the door.

Helen poured another glass of water, and only as she moved to lean back once more did she see the slip of paper tucked up under the pitcher's ceramic basin. Taking one more long sip, Helen set aside the glass and picked up the paper. She had to blink a few times to move the sleepiness to the edges of her eyes before she could read the scrawling handwriting. She felt her cheeks warm as she read the enclosed details. How embarrassing! Helen chugged the remaining water in her glass before throwing off the thin covers and standing up. She let a moment pass before moving, as she didn't want to crash to the floor, and quickly set out fixing the mass of tangles that was her hair in as right order as possible without a brush or pins. Next, Helen tied up her boots and threw open the door. She was a woman on a mission.

Only Helen found later, after wandering through the various billeting quarters for the troops, that her mission was going to be harder to fulfill than expected. Her growling and grumbling stomach was what finally had her retreating to one of the mess halls. The food was always horrid, but at least the supply lines were strong again, and they had a bit more variety, also, from the local farmers who managed to grow some crops still and were more than eager to sell it to the military.

Helen was quick about getting her food and finding a table, not particularly paying attention to where she sat or who was already sitting at the table. And so it took her by fortuitous surprise when she came back to herself and found that the very object of her earlier mission was sitting at the far end of the very table she'd chosen. The young soldier Theseus Scamander was eating alone, which served her perfectly at the moment.

Squaring her shoulders against the embarrassment she felt creeping back into her body, Helen marched her way through the crowd of men, until she stood opposite the seated man. She waited until he looked up from his food before she gave a curt nod, indicating that she had every intention of sitting with him whether he liked it or not. She saw almost an equal amount of awkward awareness shiver through his body as she settled herself across from him. Helen found this only a little reassuring.

She was curious if he would be the first to break the silence, but he wasn't. Even after she'd taken a few bites of her food and choked down a few sips of tea, he hadn't said anything, and the awkwardness between them was building. Helen gave up on eating a few moments later, finding that a fast would probably ease her stomach's rolling better than this bulletproof food, and after pushing aside the tray of unwanted items, she placed her elbows on the table and leaned forward.

"How did it end up being YOU who took care of me last night?"

She watched as Scamander found difficulty swallowing the bite of hard biscuit he'd just put into his mouth. His tea mug was empty, and so she pushed her across the table towards him. He hesitated a moment before nodding his thanks and guzzling it to clear his air passageway again.

"I, er, that is to say, um," his eyes darted everywhere but on her face, and she found this to be more annoying than endearing, "well, I found you. Or, actually," his face turned crimson then, "you found me."

Helen raised both eyebrows and reared back ever so slightly in surprise, "You are going to have to go into greater detail than that, soldier. Not only am I embarrassed by the current predicament, but I am confused as well. If I don't remember you from last night, then there is the possibility that other things might have happened that I have to mentally prepare myself for bearing the repercussions of." She reached out and lightly touched the back of his hand to lend reassurance. She withdrew it almost immediately when she saw a muscle in his jaw twitch in response. "So please, do me a favor here, and let me know in as much detail as possible, exactly what led to my lying in the inn."

Scamander took a deep breath and slowly let it out. He waited until a group of soldiers moved on past them before he scooted forward on his bench and also leaned forward so he could speak more privately; this was no small feat considering the mayhem of noise carrying on around them.

"I was on my way back to my quarters when you," he hesitated a moment, but a glare from Helen had him starting again, "fell out of the tavern. I wasn't fast enough to catch you this time so-"

"This time?" Helen frowned. "You mean, you've had to take care of me before?"

Scamander had a semi-panicked look on his face before he sighed and spoke almost too softly for her to hear, "No, not exactly. It was many months ago, almost when I was first stationed here, and it was one of my first times in town. I was just about to enter the tavern when you and some of your orderlies came out, and you tripped. I helped to right you, and then you were on your way."

The way he re-told the memory gave Helen greater insight into the current situation. She'd always found the marginally younger man attractive and also the way he carried himself almost alluring but Helen had never allowed herself to think beyond that. She'd lost far too many of these soldiers to let her heart soften towards any of them. The boy from yesterday, he'd been a civilian, and barely aged eight, and that had hit her in such a way that he'd become the representation of the waste of life she dealt with every day. To have Scamander tell her of this vague memory but in such details had her pausing. He'd been as aware of her as she'd been of him, and unlike her, it didn't seem like he'd been doing as apt a job of keeping this at arm's length in his mind and heart as she was. Helen rubbed at her temples. This was not helping her headache.

"Are you ill?" Scamander was asking her, brining Helen back to the mess hall and out of her thoughts.

Helen shook her head and dropped her hands, "Not really, just a headache. Please continue with last night's sordid tale." She wasn't sure if he picked up on the subtle sarcasm of her words. "You said I fell out of the tavern, and you weren't fast enough to catch me."

"Unlike last time, no one was with you. I helped you sit up and left you leaning against the wall outside just long enough to go inside to see if any of your orderlies were with you. The tavern keeper stopped me and told me how much you'd drunk, and," Scamander's eyes darted around again letting Helen know he was about to say something he found uncomfortable, "he told me you'd been talking about losing a child, and he thought that why you were drinking."

"Yes," Helen sighed, "some villagers brought in a young boy yesterday. Civilian obviously, and should've been in school if they still had any standing around here. Our side hit him," Helen swallowed the bitter gall that rose in her throat, "if I'd been closer by at the initial wounding I might have been able to do more but as it was," Helen sighed and shook her head to clear away the darkness, "we did lose him."

Scamander nodded, "Yes, I am sorry for that." She saw one of his hands clench out of her peripherals, and she was curious if he was fighting the urge to reach out to her. She shifted in her seat and saw it had the desired effect: Scamander also shifted in his, and he carried on. "When I came back outside, you were, well, on the ground, crying." Helen folded her hands together atop the table in front of her and squeezed. This was far more embarrassing than she'd initially feared. "I helped you up and tried to ask you where your quarters were, but you wouldn't stop crying and then," Scamander's cheeks were crimson again, and he ducked his head so low it was near impossible to hear him finish his sentence, "you wouldn't let go of me."

"What do you mean?"

"You embraced me and wouldn't let go when I tried to pull you away so I could get information from you about where to take you. I thought about taking you to the hospital and leaving you with your colleagues but," Scamander sighed and finally gave her full-on eye contact, "if I'd been in your position and in that state, I wouldn't have wanted to be thrown back to my comrades. You seemed too," he tipped his head for a moment, "raw to be returned. So I did what I thought was appropriate, and I arranged a room for you in the inn."

Although Helen found the story distasteful, she wasn't surprised by the details. He was painting an accurate picture of how she felt last night. And for as embarrassing as it was to be found like that, she was thankful it had been Scamander of all people to have done so. This morning could've been a lot worse had it been someone else.

Helen nodded, "Is there anything else I should know?"

Scamander opened his mouth, then closed it, and she saw the blush come back to his cheeks. He shifted uncomfortably, and she knew at once that yes, there was something else, and no, he did not want to tell her.

"Theseus," the use of his name had him stilling and fixing his gaze directly on her again, "I do thank you for your kindness last night and for being discreet about things. You did do the right thing, and you were accurate in your assessment of the situation." Helen pressed, "But, if there is anything else, I do have a right to know about it, and I would appreciate your thoroughness in the retelling."

"You didn't want me to leave you."

Helen again reared back, "What do you mean?"

"After I got you to the inn, I made sure you had water and that the door could lock from the inside, but when I tried to leave, you stopped me."

Helen saw again that he was hiding something, and she questioned, "HOW did I stop you?"

"You," Theseus rubbed the back of his neck, "are you certain you want to know? I do not hold any of this against you nor do I judge you by it. You were incapacitated by drink; I understand that, and I do not want to be a part of your further discomfort by telling you of events that you might find disquieting."

"Did my actions towards you last night influence the way you see me now?"

Theseus looked ready to shake his head, but then after another glance at her eyes, he nodded slowly but spoke softly, "But I assure you not in a pitying way, nor in a lustful way."

"Lustful?" Helen knew she said the word too loudly when a couple of soldiers from the next table over glanced at them briefly. She ducked her head lower and whispered, "Just what the hell did I do to stop you, Theseus?"

"You did not exactly solicit me for sexual intimacy, I can assure you of that; however, you did embrace me and made it difficult to leave by that, and when I did finally extricate myself from your arms, you did," he lowered his voice and leaned forward, and Helen mimicked his movements until their heads were close enough for him to whisper and her to hear, "you did kiss me."

His words were the trigger, and Helen gasped at the rush of memories. She remembered being in his arms and feeling safe, comforted, and maybe even a glimmer of hope that this present reality would not be the norm for much longer. Helen remembered the scent Fougère Royale mixed with sweat and the smell that warm skin often emitted. She also remembered the feel of his trembling against her, or had she been the one trembling, as their lips pressed together. The kiss hadn't lasted long, but it'd been long enough for both of them to part, wide-eyed, and more aware than ever of the want and need of one another.

Helen cleared her throat and noticing just how close their faces were now, and having the memory as fodder for the imagination; she leaned back to a much safer distance.

"But you didn't stay?" She said it as a statement though it was just as much of a question.

Theseus nodded, "I did eventually leave, yes. But after I made it clear we were not going to, well, you know, you asked me to at least wait until you fell asleep."

Helen couldn't remember this part as readily, but there were vague images that began to piece themselves together. He'd been the one to kneel while she sat in the chair and take off her muddy boots. He'd also been the one to tuck her into the bed, and after she'd grasped at his hand, she thought she remembered him sitting on the bed beside her.

"Did I," Helen leaned forward to whisper, "did I lay my head in your lap?"

Theseus nodded, "You told me your mother used to stroke your hair after you had bad dreams until you fell asleep."

"I suppose you did just that?" Helen smiled despite the ludicrous nature of their interlude. Theseus seemed surprised by the note of sarcasm in her voice, so she quickly added, "I am not at all bothered if you did. If anything, I am most impressed Mr. Scamander."

"By what?"

Helen laughed, "You quite literally helped a damsel in distress and were a gentleman about it through and through." She leaned back and noticed that the mess hall had emptied quite a bit she pulled out her pocket watched and internally swore. She was due on shift in only a half-hour. Helen looked back to Theseus and gave him another reassuring smile, "I am sorry for causing you inconvenience or discomfort as well, though I am grateful to you."

"It was not inconvenient," Helen raised a single eyebrow and wouldn't have been surprised if Theseus awkwardly said it'd been his pleasure, but instead, he said, "I am glad was there so I could be of assistance to you."

Helen nodded and stood, "I'm afraid I must dash off now. I owe you a drink," she saw Theseus draw his own eyebrows up at her words, and she chuckled, "or a cuppa if you don't trust me around taverns now."

"I'll remember that. Good day, Doctor O'Reilly"

"Especially after what I put you through last night," she picked up her tray and began to turn away, speaking over her shoulder, "you can most assuredly call me Helen. Good day to you too, Scamander."

She thought she heard him call after her something along the lines of calling him by his given name as well, but she was in too much of a rush to be certain. She would have to wait until they had that cup of tea together to confirm if her hang-over influenced hearing had been accurate or not.


	3. The Letter

It was over. Theseus had repeated the reality to himself time and time again, and it still had yet to _feel_ like reality. He had grown so used to the pain, the muck, the frustration, and the camaraderie of this war that he'd almost forgotten that there had been a life before it, one that involved schooling and work and dinners and meetings. Theseus had always known but had seemed to forget that the war would eventually be over and that the life that was now more like a ghost to him would start over again. He wondered if it was a sign of madness to think that with the relief of knowing the war was over Thesus also felt a kind of sadness, a melancholy, that he would never again live with the men he'd come to call brothers or that this sense of urgency and necessity for his efforts would never again be his.

Theseus didn't dare say any of these thoughts or feelings aloud. He instead mimicked his brothers with his relieved smile and almost giddy laughter when the topic came up. They each traded stories of what they would do once they were home, and they even made promises of when they would meet each other again. It was an emotionally exhausting business. Saying farewell in your heart and body to a state of living you'd grown so accustomed to and that few back home would ever understand. He knew these men, his fellow survivors, were like the band of brothers who fought with Henry V at Agincourt on St. Crispin's Day. They were bonded together in a way few others who had not been here would understand. Without having to experience it firsthand, Theseus knew that reintegrating into life back home was going to be a whole new battleground for them all.

And it was a battle they had yet to fight for they had yet to be sent back home. Theirs was one of the last positions to be pulled out in this area of Europe, they'd heard, and when they were pulled out they would have long train rides, overcrowded ship rides, and even a few cart rides to look forward to before they could get back to England. But at least it was over. No more attacks, be it with physical weapons or magical. They could each go to sleep at night, knowing that the same men you saw the night before would still be living the morning after. It was quite surreal, really, and Theseus had yet to come to grips with it all.

This was part of the reason why he'd begun having trouble sleeping. There was so much unknown about what life would be like for _him_ once he returned home. Like the others, he had a family to return to, and even the hopes for a continued job at the Ministry but Theseus had taken quite a risk to join the war effort and now, with the war over, he was taking a near equal amount of risk in returning home. Some would be happy to throw him and others like him into Azkaban for his disobeying a direct order from Evermonde to remain neutral during the war. And some would love to use him as a poster child of why it was essential to work more closely with the non-magical world. Theseus knew that his experience here on the battlefield could be used as propaganda for either side and he wanted none of that.

Before the war, Theseus had just made it through the demanding training program for the Auror Office at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He had only made a name for himself as a Dark Wizard catcher when all hell had broken loose in the Muggle world. His superiors told Theseus that if he dared to violate the order to remain out of the war, then he could forget about ever working for the Ministry again. It had been a difficult decision, Theseus remembered, and yet at the same time, it had also been the easiest decision he'd ever made. He did not believe that he had been born with these abilities to benefit one world alone, especially when throughout the history of the magical and non-magical, people drifted easily between the two worlds, so much so that you could not, he believed at least, have one without the other.

Theseus pulled his coat tighter against his body. The winds were picking up, carrying on them the sounds of late-night revelry and the smells of feasting. For many, both those local and those soon to be gone, each day without fighting was a day to celebrate, and they had not stopped doing so since the announcement had been made. Here in the village, near every corner, there was the sound of music and singing. Theseus found the sounds comforting although he did not also feel the desire to join in on the experience. His mind was too preoccupied with the what-ifs and unknowns of "what next" to find much enjoyment in-

His melancholy was momentarily lifted even as his feet lost their footing, and he fell to the ground, his arms now full of the human mass that had all but fallen out of the door nearest him. He coughed, and he heard the mass laugh and somehow moan at the same time, followed closely by a high-pitched hiccup. The mass was undoubtedly female, and Theseus had a devil of a time in his attempt to roll the woman off him without grabbing her indecently, especially since she'd seemed to grow an extra pair of arms and legs. Not in the literal sense, of course, but every time he disentangled one arm from about his neck or within the folds of his jacket, another appeared, and he hadn't a clue what was occurring with their legs as they both thrashed around on the cobblestoned street.

A head appeared at the door the mass had fallen out of, and Theseus recognized then where he was and who the head belonged to. He'd circled the village and come back to the tavern he and his comrades most often frequented, and the head now speaking to him was the tavern owner. He spoke in French, though Theseus knew the man knew English by now, and it took a moment or two before Theseus mentally translated the words.

"Oh, it is you again. I know I can trust you to take care of her. Poor madam, everyone is celebrating but her. She carries too many ghosts with her, I fear." The tavern keeper shook his head before shutting the tavern door, not once making an effort to help Theseus or the woman up off the ground. Theseus sighed. The French…

"Theseus," his attention returned to the feminine mass in his arms. The woman's head had lifted off his chest, and he could see through the mess of hair the face of none other than Helen O'Reilly. "We have got to," she hiccuped, "stop meeting like this." Another hiccup then a giggle. "Thank you for catching me." Another hiccup, "Again."

Theseus nodded, "Are you here alone?" She nodded and earned a frown from him. "Why?"

Helen looked around them at the otherwise deserted street, seemingly unperturbed by the fact that they still lay sprawled on the ground in a shocking twist of limbs and clothing. When her gaze came back to rest on his face, Theseus saw that she wasn't nearly as intoxicated as she had been the last time they'd run into each other like this. She clicked her tongue in her mouth and shook her head at him.

"Why are you alone?" With her question, she seemed to find the energy to extract herself from his arms finally. She rolled to the side, allowing him the ability to stand and accepted the hand he offered her. She didn't ask first, and Theseus found he didn't mind before she reached out and brushed the dried muck off his uniform coat. But she, thankfully, didn't attempt to brush off his rear as well.

"I've been walking," Theseus felt a bit sheepish for telling her this, but that didn't stop him from adding, "I have a lot on my mind."

Helen nodded, hiccuped, put a hand over her mouth to cover a burp, and nodded again with a wry smile, "That is probably a better thing to do than drinking." She put her hands on her hips, and Theseus hands twitched to help when he saw her body sway in the wind. "Mind if I join you? I think the fresh air would do me some good. Sober me up."

Theseus waited until she started to walk in the direction he'd just come from before he fell into step beside her. They walked in companionable silence, one interrupted only now and again with her hiccups or burps and "thank yous" when he reached out to guide her still swerving body over a pothole or down a step.

In the time since he'd left her the note in the hotel room and the subsequent conversation in the mess hall, they'd had a few more encounters, but none of them involving alcohol. He'd met her in the bookstore, or what was left of the village bookstore, on one of his leave days and they'd exchanged some pleasantries about books. He'd been both surprised and pleased to find that they had similar tastes. That had been the first time she'd called him continuously by his first name, and Theseus had tentatively begun calling her Helen. They'd met again when he'd helped to bring in a few of his brothers for medical care, and after they'd been treated and stabilized, Helen had taken the time to check up on him. Friend to friend, she'd told him, not doctor to former patient.

And there were a half dozen other times, typically just in passing at the mess hall or in the village, but with each encounter, Theseus felt his initial attraction for her, and the nervousness it brought, shift into something more steady. She was still beautiful to him, and Theseus still found himself fantasizing about conversations to have with her about various elements of life back home, even going so far as to picture her having dinner with his parents. She was more human than she had been when he'd first met her if that made any sense, and Theseus found himself yearning for the camaraderie of a stable relationship with her. But he knew it was impossible. He didn't know much about her beyond what she'd revealed in her drunken state(s) or the few personal tidbits she'd shared with him in conversation, but he got the distinct feeling that she was the kind of Muggle who would prefer to live her life firmly in the Muggle world without knowledge of magic.

"It is strange," she broke the silence nearly three blocks from when they'd first begun their walk, "to think that I will actually miss elements of this place, of living like this, of being here." She waved an arm around her and nearly fell off the sidewalk if Theseus hadn't grabbed her elbow and steadied her. "Do you feel similar or am I the only one mad enough to feel that way?"

Theseus let out the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding, "Actually, I thought I was the only one who felt that way."

"Well," Helen smiled, "having you feel the same doesn't mean we aren't both mad." She winked. "But it is good not to be alone in the sentiments nonetheless."

Theseus hummed his agreement. He found himself holding back questions he wanted to ask her: about what she would be doing now, where she would be going, did she have anyone to go home to, and other such questions the level of intimacy between them did not allow. He glanced over at her, taking in the sight of her determined look of concentration, most likely doing her best to keep from stumbling in her inebriation, and he smiled. He would miss her and yet he wondered if it would be too impertinent of him to ask for her address so they could at least exchange letters. He nibbled his lower lip in thought.

"Oh," her voice had him looking up just in time to catch sight of an owl flying towards them, "that is an owl." The owl perched on the streetlamp near where they stood and dropped a letter into Theseus's hands. "Did that owl just give you a letter?" The owl hooted then retook flight. "Theseus, an owl just gave you a letter." Helen rubbed at her eyes. "Please tell me I'm not seeing things."

Theseus didn't know what to say or do, at that moment. Typically owls were more discrete in their deliveries. He'd received quite a number in his time here but never in front of another person who wasn't also a wizard or witch or was a Muggle aware of his abilities. His hands gripped the letter, and he swallowed. How was he going to get out of this?

"Whoah," she reached out and stopped him from pocketing the letter, "I just saw an owl drop a letter into your hands. I have to know what it says." She had both hands on his wrist and stared eagerly at him. "Come on, Theseus, don't you want to know what it says? Things like this don't happen every day."

Theseus felt his stomach tighten. He really didn't want to use a memory charm on her. But she was pushing him into a corner. Before he could say, or do, anything else, she took the letter from his hands and opened it. Theseus reached for it but Helen side-stepped him, and he reached for it again. It must've looked like an odd, archaic dance to an onlooker, her dancing just out of reach as he continued to attempt to grab hold of the letter, without causing her to fall off balance or hurt herself. She'd begun to laugh at some point, and, despite the gravity of the situation, the sound made a smile tug at his own lips as well.

Eventually, Theseus "danced" her up against the wall. She had her letter-holding hand behind her back, pressed between her body and the bricks, while her free hand lay on his chest above his heart. Theseus had one arm wrapped down and around her waist, reaching for the letter, with the other hand braced against the wall beside her shoulder. He felt her breath on his face and could feel her chest brush against his with each breath either of them took. Her lips were still pulled back in a smile while Theseus knew his face had taken on a more severe and confused expression.

"You're a good dancer, Theseus Scamander," her voice was huskier than usual, "it makes me wonder if you're a good kisser as well." Theseus's eyes widened, and he felt his stomach tighten again. "Oh, I know I kissed you before, but I barely remember it, and I was far too intoxicated to appreciate it fully."

Theseus cleared his throat, "Are you propositioning me for a kiss, Dr. O'Reilly?"

"Helen." Her smile brightened. "And I will shamelessly confess to yes I am." Her hand moved up his chest to the back of his neck. She leaned more into him, and Theseus felt his head go faint. "A kiss for the letter."

Never would have Theseus imagined himself to be in this position. He knew she was still under the influence of the alcohol, though not nearly as much now as she had before been. Theseus also knew or had begun to assume that she felt an inkling of attraction for him as every time she saw him, the quality of her smile was different than the ones she gave to others. He knew that kissing her could cause misunderstandings and false expectations for either of them, but he certainly wasn't about to let the opportunity go to waste either.

Theseus gave a small smile of his own before closing the distance between them. He then promptly lost all connection with reality as he kissed her. The kiss tasted vaguely of the drinks she'd been indulging in earlier, but Theseus didn't mind for it also tasted distinctly of Helen. He remembered her taste from the last kiss they'd shared. He pulled her tighter against him as he felt both her arms move around to hold onto his neck and shoulders. Theseus moved a hand to cup her face while the other smoothed over her hair. It felt as if they were conforming to one another, their bodies responding faster than their minds. Their lips only parted long enough for Theseus to kiss her neck, for Helen to pull his earlobe between her lips, and for both of them to pant as they clung to one another.

He got a hold of himself long enough to draw out his wand as he kissed her again, distracting her from his movements. Theseus nearly dropped his wand when she drew her hips against his in a rather wanton, but not unwelcome, way. This was the best time he had to do this, though Theseus loathed to do it. He continued to lavish kisses upon her neck, her cheeks, her lips, as he moved his wand into position. Then, leaning his forehead against hers and taking in a much-needed breath, Theseus whispered the necessary words for the memory charm.

"What did you say?" her question had him opening his eyes and drawing back from her just enough to see her more clearly.

Theseus hadn't heard the familiar sound of magic in the air in response to his words, and neither had he seen a corresponding blast of color. That was strange.

"I said, obliviate," Theseus tightened his grip on his wand, though he kept it out of sight, and watched and waited. Still nothing.

Helen tipped her head to the side, "Not that I've kissed a goodly amount of men in my time, but I must say that's a first for me." She still held onto him, which Theseus took as a good sign. "Do I take that as a compliment or an insult, Mr. Scamander?"

"Compliment," Theseus slipped his wand discretely away and placed both of his hands on her hips, "I find that I forget the rest of the world when I'm with you."

Helen laughed, "Careful with your romantic words, Theseus, they're liable to get you into trouble." It seemed the frenzy between them with their kiss was over now, broken by Theseus, and she pulled away just enough to press the letter against his chest. "I wouldn't have read it, Theseus. Just wanted a bit of fun."

He nodded, believing her. She eyed him curiously then, and it took that look from her for Theseus to realize he still held onto her and had her pressed against the wall. Theseus blushed as he dropped his hands and stepped back. She at least had the excuse of alcohol to explain her behavior.

"So," she rocked on her heels, and Theseus was happy to see that she was steadier on her feet now, "I still owe you that drink." At Theseus' look, she laughed and patted his shoulder, "I don't mean now." Without asking, she looped her arm in his and started back in the direction they'd come. "I mean once we're back in England. You seem the type to dwell mostly in London, am I right?" Theseus nodded. "My father has a practice in Cardiff and my uncle in Dublin. Both of them have offered to take me on now that this nightmare is over. If you give me your address, I could let you know when I'm in your area of the Isles, and we can go get that drink."

Not for the first time, Theseus didn't know what to say, or do, with this woman. Everything she said was a surprise, and yet not, and she often said or did things that he thought of himself but hadn't quite gotten around to. Perhaps he would age into being more like her, having more initiative. They weren't so far apart in age as he'd first thought, she was old enough to be an older sister, not an aunt, but he got the feeling that she'd lived through more difficulties than he and so had an older wisdom aura about her shoulders that he lacked.

"That is unless you are looking forward to the time you say goodbye to me," she playfully punched his shoulder and made Theseus realize he hadn't yet replied to her, "I may be too forward for your scene."

While it was true, for some in his household or his 'world,' her behavior and even vocation would be seen as too "forward," Theseus also felt that she would fit in like a glove.

"No, no. Sorry I was lost in thought. I'd be happy to give you my address. The lads and I have already begun making plans for our get-togethers once we're back home." He laid a hand over hers on his arm, "I would love to see you again."

Her smile was soft and genuine. She squeezed his arm and laid her head against it as they continued to walk. They didn't get very far before she spoke again, "It still was quite odd for an owl to give you a letter. Unless that was a mutated pigeon."

Theseus laughed and relished the feeling of walking beside her, if even for one last time.


	4. An Awkward Pub Encounter

_Thank you for your patience—I know I am not the best at updating speedily—and thank you for your continued support. If you have requests for certain scenes or characters, please leave it in a review or a PM. Cheers!_

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The only time London was sufferable was during the summer. Though brief—blink and you'll miss it—London summers were what made the city charming. All the gardens and parks grew people as much as they did plants during these short weeks. Everyone poured out of their grumpy corners of the city, desperate to soak up the good weather while it lasted. This jovial weather was perhaps the main reason why summertime was equated with romance and other such frolicky attitudes.

Yet, the issue Helen had with London in the summer was the crush of people that crowded the subways, markets, sidewalks, theaters, night clubs, and anywhere you might like to venture while on a brief visit. The annual medical seminar had lasted two weeks, beginning on the tail end of the spring rains and bridging into the early sunshine of summer. By the end of the seminar, right when Helen was ready to take a few relaxing days to herself before heading back to her practice in Cardiff, the weather had shifted so dramatically that it seemed the city became overpopulated overnight.

Helen so rarely came to London that she didn't have an insider's perspective on where to go to avoid the crowds and so had resorted to logic. If the more "civilized" areas of the city were crowded with all the dolled-up men and women looking for a summer fling, then the "less civilized" areas would be more amiable to someone like herself.

Helen had never been keen on large crowds. In the five years since the war, she had grown to loathe small spaces and loud, sudden noises. The attempts she'd made at finding a place to take her meals near her hotel once she'd grown tired of their fare had resulted in her fasting for fear of having a panic attack. They didn't happen often, but whenever they did happen, they were untimely and awkward. Helen dealt with sleeplessness or nightmares, but it seemed the horrors she'd experienced in the war came back to haunt in the daylight hours more readily if she placed herself in too great a crowd for too small space.

The streets in this district were decidedly less clean, the people assuredly less friendly, and Helen relished it. She did draw a few looks from some would-be mashers as she walked briskly along towards her destination. She was wearing a more fashionable outfit than most of the other women she'd seen in this district. The other women either dressed as aged prostitutes, which they might very well have been, rough-hewn day workers, or shabbily garbed old women. Helen hadn't realized she would make such a potential target of herself dressed in her loose-fitted tailored silk-blend crepe dress of mauve and taupe. It was scoop-necked, with three-quarter length sleeves, and the hem was the most modest she'd seen since coming into this district, stopping at just below the knee. Helen wore practical t-strap shoes, no-heel as she would like to maintain her back into old age, and finished the outfit with a pistachio-colored cloche hat.

Unlike most women of this age, Helen still employed the use of a hairpin. She found it useful for keeping her long hair coiled at the base of her neck and out-of-the-way when wearing a hat—a must when going out and about fashionable London. She also preferred to keep it nearby when in the cities. A hatpin came in very handy as a self-defense weapon against mashers or thieves. Helen also walked confidently in this district as she not only always carried a Remington M95 derringer in her purse, but she was also the first female instructor of jiu-jitsu in Cardiff. So long as they didn't get the drop on her, Helen felt secure enough in her training to feel assured in her ability to hold her own.

Despite this knowledge, Helen did breathe a sigh of relief when she found the recommended pub without any sort of unwelcome encounter. She hadn't bothered asking the concierge at the hotel for recommendations; his advice had been what'd led her to fast in the first place. No, she'd pulled aside one of the chambermaids she'd had a few passing conversations with over the time she'd been at the hotel. The maid had at first looked uncomfortable offering up any suggestions that were in less posh neighborhoods, but after a tip and insistence, she'd recommended this pub, which just so happened to be run by a distant cousin.

Helen was under the impression that the beef stew and fresh bread were some of the best in town. The maid also told her that her cousin tended to have some of the oddest and most potent selections of spirits and ales from around the world. Food and drink combined, located in a less crowded area of the city, and Helen was won over. The maid instructed Helen to tell the pub keeper that "Daisy" had recommended the place, and Helen hoped that that was a good thing. If Daisy was on the outs with her cousin, then she may end up with bits of hair or a fingernail in her fare.

The inside of the pub was much like any other: bar area, booth area, table area, with a small stage in the corner where players could entertain folks in the evenings. At this hour, there were only the day workers and a few barflies about, and it was easy enough for Helen to get a seat at the far end of the bar. She again drew some curious looks as she moved to sit by herself, and she felt a bit out of place but did her best not to show it. She had a wall to her back and a clear view of the entrance. The door leading out to the lavatory was to her right, and another wall was to her left. Once Helen mentioned Daisy's name to the inquisitive pub keeper, the bright smile she was given, and the assurances that she'd get the best they had to offer, with one pint of her choice on the house, she felt that this hadn't been a bad idea after all.

Between delivering her ale and her food, Helen and the pub keeper discovered they were both veterans of the war. The pub keeper was missing a few toes on his left foot but was otherwise unharmed physically. Neither of them had to say it to recognize the mental and emotional scars that were much harder to heal. Their mutual survival of the war earner her another pint on the house and a new friend in the form of the burly man.

After she finished her food, including the fresh bread pudding made by the pub keeper's wife, and ordered another pint as well as a shot of whiskey, Helen settled in to read through her seminar notes. There quite a lot going on in the medical field in America and even more so going on in Austria and Germany. It felt, to Helen, like they were always playing catch-up in England. Well, at least in Wales. She was like many other veterans of the war and had to fight against anger and frustration at just how many MORE lives they could've saved if some of this new technology had been available, or if more of these medical journals had been published and also available to study.

Helen took her shot of whiskey and savored the burning and palate-cleansing feel of it washing through her mouth and down her throat. Her aunt's church had helped her through a type of rehabilitation after the war, and Helen, though not exactly religious herself, was grateful for it. Those first few months back home had been hell, and she still didn't know exactly how much she drank. Her father had never had the nerve to tell her. She still felt the itch for it when the nightmares got bad, or a panic attack started knocking at her heart's door, but for the most part, she had it under control and only indulged on special occasions. Good food and a quiet pub were a good enough occasion in her mind.

It was as she was setting her shot glass back down, tempted to order another, that the door to the lavatory opened and a man dressed in a three-piece gray suit with an equally grey homburg hat on his head stepped out. While it would not normally be strange for such a well-dressed man to come out of the lavatory, what made it strange was that Helen knew for certain he hadn't before been in the pub. He must've decided, for whatever reason, to enter the pub from the backside. Perhaps, wondered Helen as she continued to observe him quietly shut the door, he was trying to be covert in his comings and goings because he was meeting someone on the sly.

When he turned in his quick study of the room, Helen felt her stomach flip, and her mouth drop open in surprise. It was Theseus Scamander. He looked more mature and, from what she'd seen so far, carried himself in an equally more mature manner. She hadn't seen him since the war. While they'd exchanged a few letters in the five years since, for the most part, life had gotten in the way for them both and neither had made much of an effort to rectify that.

His eyes landed on Helen only seconds after she first recognized him. A smile tugged at her lips and a matching look of delight and confusion modeled Theseus' features. The moment was broken when, over the casual din of nearby conversation and pub goings-on, they both heard a few heavy thuds in the room which led out to the lavatory. Helen looked from the door to Theseus. He broke eye contact just long enough to study the room once more. With an aggravated sounding sigh, he ripped his hat from his head and was on Helen within two strides.

She opened her mouth to ask what the matter was, but her question was muffled and lost by the press of his lips to her. His movements had moved her on the barstool, and she was maneuvered to face him, her chest pressed to his, her legs splayed awkwardly on either side of his as he stood between them. Helen's arms came up automatically and after a brief waving in the air from her surprise, she placed them both on Theseus' chest and gave a push. One of his hands cupped the back of her neck while the other snaked around her body and held her torso tight against him.

While Helen would never have thought she'd mind him kissing her again, the near-violent and desperate way he now kissed her, and without so much as a hello, had her growing both frustrated as well as a bit worried. Had he had a breakdown since the war? Did he think she was someone else? Helen moved her fingers to pinch a sensitive nerve in Theseus' neck, effectively ending the kiss.

"What the hell, Theseus!" She whispered as she gasped in air.

He didn't let go of her, and Helen wasn't sure why she hadn't pushed him away either. The sudden appearance of three goon looking men through the door Theseus had come through answered Helen's unasked question better than Theseus' desperate albeit apologetic look. She felt Theseus' whole body stiffen under her hands and against the sensitive flesh of her thighs as the men moved further into the pub, not having taken notice of either of them just yet. Whoever these men were they meant harm to Theseus and from the looks of it, they would do that harm indiscriminately, no matter who else got in the way. Helen understood then what it was Theseus had been trying to do when he'd kissed her without permission.

It was in their favor that this pub had fewer windows than the ones in the posher areas, and so despite the luncheon hour, it was still murky and dark. It was also in their favor that in the time frame Helen had been there, more patrons had come in, including a rowdier group of wharf workers taking a more extended lunch than average. Everyone was far more occupied with their mates than they had been when Helen had come in, and there were even a few couples lurking on the edges of the pub either already kissing or looking near enough to it.

Helen made quick work of Theseus' jacket and hat, basically tossing both onto the bar beside her purse. She tugged part of his shirt askew and unbuttoned his top few buttons to ruffle the look further. Their movements alerted one of the goons and before Theseus could protest, not that Helen thought he would, Helen wrapped her arms around him and hooked her ankles around the back of his knees, hugging him tight against her. She wrapped one arm under his and took to rubbing it up and down his back while the other one tangled up in his hair and further fluffed it, helping to cover his profile from view. Theseus' head was also angled into their kiss in such a way that it would take one of the goons actively ripping him out of her arms to identify him.

Helen kept her eyes lidded but open as Theseus kissed her. In the back of her mind, Helen recognized that he'd grown in his skill for kissing and that, given another time and place, this would feel damn good. But the goon continued to lurk closer. Helen broke the kiss so Theseus could kiss down her neck. She managed to make eye contact with the pub keeper. He had also taken notice of Theseus and had been crossing the room when the other men arrived. The shadowed look on his face gave Helen hope. It seemed that he didn't like their presence any more than Theseus or Helen did. Without sparing Helen and Theseus another look, the pub keeper leaned heavily against the bar and called out to the goon approaching them.

Helen rubbed her feet up and down the back of Theseus' legs at the same time that she moved her arms to cup his face and shift on the barstool to keep his face even more shadowed. This afforded her a greater view of each one of the goons. As they pressed their lips together again and Theseus' hands began to stroke up and down her sides, Helen watched the other two goons circle the pub in obvious search of someone. The other goon asked the pub keeper a question, probably if he'd seen Theseus. The pub keeper pointed toward the front door, then looked at his watch and nodded as he pointed again at the front door. The goon looked like he wasn't quite convinced, and Helen felt more than saw his attention move back towards the two of them.

"Daisy," the pub keeper called to her and Helen pulled away from Theseus to stare at him. She pressed Theseus' head against her neck, as if she relished his kisses, "how many times do I have to tell you. Don't solicit customers in my joint at this hour. What if these guys had been coppers? I'd be out of business, and you'd be in the clink."

"Sorry, Bear," the pub keeper had told her earlier that his comrades and mates had given him the nickname on account of his size, "got carried away and forgot to ask if I could have the usual room, for our usual agreement fee?"

The pub keeper grunted as he pulled out a set of keys from his pocket. He carefully selected one and tossed it to her. He indicated with his eyes the door just behind her. Where she'd at first thought it to be a solid wall, she now understood it to be the door to the private quarters upstairs, cleverly designed to look like an ordinary wall except for the latch. She pushed Theseus away just enough to gather her things and shove his at him, before she winked at Bear, licked her lips as she looked at the goon, then turned and unlocked the door. They were through it, with it locked again, within seconds.

Neither of them spoke as they continued on up the ladder-like stairs immediately on the other side. In fact, neither of them spoke until they were up the stairs, down the hall, and in a small bedroom that overlooked another side street. Helen sat on the bed and waited while Theseus shut and locked the door and checked the view from each of the small windows. As Helen watched him, taking in the disheveled look and finding it an improvement to his previous immaculate one, she theorized what sort of job Theseus might have to allow him to dress so nicely and yet, at the same time, be hiding from goons like the men below. Once Theseus was satisfied with whatever it was he'd been trying to figure out, he turned to look at Helen, his face masked of whatever it was he was feeling.

"So," Helen broke the silence when it seemed Theseus would rather just stare at her to pass the time, "are you going to tell me why I served as disguise and decoy downstairs, or am I going to have to guess?" Theseus sat on the chair by the wall near the end of the bed. "I have an excellent imagination and could come up with all sorts of nefarious scenarios, but I would much rather just have the truth. If you, please."

Theseus ran both hands through his hair, further fluffing its curls, and heaved a great sigh. He looked around the room as if something in there with them would offer him advice on what to say. Helen left him his silence to figure himself out and took the time to smooth out her dress. Her hair was already falling down, her hatpin dangling uselessly from one of her tresses, and her hat was cockeyed. To further allow him time and privacy to figure things out, Helen pulled her hat off, hatpin with it, and shook out her hair. She'd worry about putting it back up when it was time to leave.

"It is good to see you, Helen," Theseus spoke finally, and Helen was surprised at the effect his voice had on her nerves. Probably because her body still burned in the areas where he'd touched her and now that it seemed danger was over her brain was reminding her body of all that had happened to it just moments ago. "Truly, it is. You don't look a day older than when we last saw each other."

"Flattery will not distract my brain from the fact that just a few moments ago, your tongue was in my mouth, and my hand was on your arse." Helen leaned back on the bed, crossing her ankles and eyeing Theseus with a look that dared him to deny what she'd said. "But, for old time's sake, it is good to see you too, Theseus. Though I'd never imagined our reunion would go quite like that," Helen chuckled, "can't say that I mind much. Haven't had a good snog in ages."

The blush she remembered him often getting because of things she said or did came back in full force and Helen smiled all the more. Theseus gave another sigh and stood up, pacing the length of the room as he checked the windows and door again. When he looked back to her, Helen could see that the mirth they'd had for a moment was gone, and whatever it was he'd been running from had come back to mind.

"Are you in danger?" Helen asked, sitting up again.

Theseus scoffed, "I'd think you'd be asking yourself that question. You're the one I accosted without explanation."

"I'm also the one who saved your arse. Well, me and Bear." At Theseus look, Helen shrugged, "Met him only a few hours ago. I came here for some food and privacy. I've been staying downtown for a series of medical seminars past few weeks and felt the need to get out of the hustle and bustle of the other districts." She crossed her arms over her chest and glared, "See? That's how easy it is to explain why you're in a place and how you came to be there. Why don't you try it for a change?"

"There are things that I cannot tell you," Theseus came to crouch down to eye level, "for fear of putting you into even greater danger. But what I can tell you is that I'm not on the run from the law, I work for it, and those men were and are dangerous and they are on the other side of the law. That's all I can tell you. You have no need for more information about my vocation or what I was doing down here, or even why they were after me. All that would jeopardize your safety, and I won't have that."

Helen leaned forward and kissed his cheek. She pulled back and smiled at his confusion, "See how easy that was?" Theseus blinked at her a moment more before he chuckled and stood up again. He circled the room, pausing longer at each of the windows. "When do you think it'll be safe to leave?"

"You should probably leave first. Don't head immediately back to your hotel. Maybe go for a walk in a park or head to the market for a few more hours. You saw the men long enough to be able to recognize them?" Helen nodded. "Good, then you should be able to tell if any of them are tailing you. What hotel are you staying at?" She told him and after a moment he spoke again, "How much longer are you staying in London?"

"I was planning on leaving tomorrow after breakfast. I've already been gone from my practice over two weeks. I'm afraid my uncle will have my hide if I make him work much longer out of retirement." Helen stood up and moved to the mirror. She took the time to right her looks as she spoke to Theseus over her shoulder, aware of him watching her movements through the mirror. "How can I reach you?" She saw him raise an eyebrow and added, "To let you know that I'm safe."

Theseus nodded and after another silent moment of contemplation, "Remember that owl?" It took Helen a moment before she recalled what he was talking about. At her smile and nod, Theseus explained, "There will be an owl at your window tonight around 8 o'clock. Give it a note of your safety or danger, and I'll get it."

"You're not even going to explain why an owl are you?" Theseus shook his head, and Helen shrugged. "Well, everyone is allowed their secrets, I suppose." Finished with her hair, she grabbed her hat and pinned it in place. Then she turned to Theseus. "I think you should let me help you not look so ravished."

"What do you mean?" He looked down and seemed only then to notice that he was still missing his coat, his vest was unbuttoned completely, and his first few shirt buttons were undone. Not only that, but his shirt was untucked, his hair a mess, and there were lipstick stains on his collar. After he moved to stand beside Helen and took sight of himself in the mirror, he laughed. "Yes, I suppose you should."

Helen pulled out the chair and had him sit down. She grabbed her comb from her purse again and set about wrangling his hair back into submission. It was soft, thick, and felt wonderful to run her fingers through. She tried not to get too distracted by it and to do so she struck up another conversation.

"I took over my uncle's practice in Cardiff. He's older than my father and was keener on retirement than my father. Cardiff seemed to be more suitable for me anyway. I don't foresee the Irish beating down a female doctor's door any time soon." She finished with his hair and so leaned down to dab away the lipstick streaks on his cheeks, around his lips, and on his neck. She really had done a number on him. "Don't know about you, but I have to admit the first bit after the war was the hardest and I damn near killed myself with drink."

Theseus reached out and stilled her hands with his own covering her wrists. He used his hold on her to tug her down, closer, and he placed a soft kiss on both her cheeks. They stared at each other for a heartbeat before he let go and she resumed her task.

"I was able to take up my job again, the one I had before the war, and I've made some advancements since. Seems that getting shot at in the war helps to endear you to certain people in the government." He spoke the last part more with cynicism than delight, and it was Helen's turn to stop her movements and kiss his forehead. He smiled in response. "It IS good to see you, Helen. I am sorry I didn't make more effort to keep in contact or try to see you. I'm afraid I let-"

Helen straightened and motioned for him to stand as well. She waited until he tucked in his shirt before she set about righting his shirt buttons and vest.

As she worked, Helen spoke, not looking at Theseus' face, "We both let life get in the way, Theseus. Out of sight, out of mind, rings about true here. I know it wasn't deliberately done, you're too good a man for that, and I've never faulted you for it. I've been busy enough myself that I hope you haven't been over here pining for me either." At his chuckle, Helen pulled away and narrowed her eyes, "Did I kiss a married man down there?"

"No," Theseus leaned down and gave her a quick peck on the lips, "I am single."

"For now," Helen chuckled. She grabbed his coat and helped him into it then handed his hat to him. He still looked a bit more wrinkled than he had when she'd first glimpsed him, but Helen found she preferred the more wrinkled look on him. "Well," she took up her purse and fished out her card, "if you're ever in Cardiff, feel free to stop by."

Theseus immediately put her card in his wallet and put it back in his coat pocket after he pulled out a card of his own. It was his name, a number, and address only, no notation of his vocation. At her look, Theseus grinned, and she sighed. Him and his secrets. Helen placed his card safely in her purse then took a look around the room to ensure she wasn't leaving anything behind. She didn't really want to leave, they'd only just begun getting reacquainted, but she knew he most likely had other more important things to do than hover awkwardly around a stranger's room.

"I'll take the key back to Bear's wife. I saw another set of stairs on our way here that I'm sure leads to the kitchens. I'll go out the back way, with her escorting me a fair bit, after giving her the key." Theseus nodded at her plan and then he too looked a bit awkward about leaving. "Are you free tomorrow morning for breakfast before I head back to Wales?"

Theseus genuinely contemplated the offer for a time before he sighed, "I honestly don't know. It all depends on how events happen this evening. How about this, if I'm free, I'll meet you at-" he paused long enough for Helen to suggest eight in the morning, "in the dining room of your hotel. If I don't show up by nine, then you'll know that things didn't go splendidly."

"How will I know if YOU'RE okay? The goons were after you."

"Even if I can't come to join you for breakfast," Theseus reached out and helped to tuck a strand of hair behind Helen's ear, "I'll send a note letting you know I'm safe."

Helen grinned, "Do I get another owl note in the morning then?"

Theseus laughed and shook his head. They stared at one another, noticing then that they stood closer than mere friends, and it was Theseus who initiated a soft and unhurried kiss. Helen leaned into the kiss but made no move to deepen it. They parted after some time and shared a smile. Helen gave his hand a squeeze, his arm a pat, then left without looking back.

She didn't have a name for what it was she felt for Theseus. They barely knew each other, and yet they seemed to destined to continue to meet in awkward and absurd ways. They were friends, of that she was certain, and they could perhaps develop into something more, given the proper time and effort. But she wasn't worried about it either way.

It was not difficult to find her way to the kitchen, and Bear's wife, while surprised to see her holding the key and in the kitchens, was amiable and game for escorting Helen to the nearest tube station, walking together and chatting as if old friends. Helen did give Bear's wife her card and invited them both to Cardiff for treats in repayment for their help before moving into the tube station.

The rest of the day was also simple enough. She reviewed her notes, did some comparative research, ate a dinner of fruit bought at the market, and took a much desired hot bath. When she came back into the central area of her hotel room after her bath, she heard a scratching at her window. Her curiosity and expectations were neither disappointed when she opened the window, and an owl flew in, dropping a piece of parchment paper into her hand. The owl was mostly black but had flecks of white across its chest. He was adorable, and Helen wanted to pet him, but she didn't know if he was a delivery owl only or if he was inclined towards pats.

"I have to admit," she spoke to the owl as she unfolded the parchment, "that this has got to be the oddest way of communicating." There was a pen tucked into the folds of the parchment, and it wouldn't have surprised Helen if this pen was special and wrote in invisible ink or some other strange feat.

She saw that Theseus had written a quick note introducing the owl, Gertrude, to her and informed her that yes, indeed, the ink would be invisible even to her own eyes but that she should write as much or as little as she liked.

Helen rolled her eyes and took up the pen. "Gertrude, eh?" She glanced over at the owl and saw the bird give a bit of a head bob in response. "You're pretty. And effective. Though, still odd."

Helen was annoyed that she couldn't see what she wrote, but she wrote as best she could despite that and hoped it was still legible, _Gertrude is sweet and fluffy. Did you name her after an old flame? I'm safe. I enjoyed seeing you and kissing you, and I look forward to more of either when you've the time. Cheers, Helen._

Rolling up the parchment, she held it and the pen out to Gertrude and laughed when the owl gracefully swooped by, taking both from her hand. It moved through the open window in a matter of seconds. Life associated with Theseus Scamander was decidedly different, and Helen didn't mind at all. She was intrigued and hoped that one day he would feel more comfortable with sharing the details, but she wasn't in the position to pry, and neither did she want to. Helen appreciated that Theseus hadn't pried into her past and the reasons why she had the quirks she did, including a penchant for drink. As she thought about it more, Helen found that she wouldn't mind sharing that part of her life with him.

She dreamt of Theseus that night, as Helen knew she would, and woke up looking at the empty side of her bed with a lingering desire for it to be filled with a certain enigmatic man. She was all packed and left her luggage with the bellhop at the door by eight and was settled at a highly visible table in the dining room by five minutes past. Helen didn't wait to serve herself food. It was tolerable, but she wouldn't miss it. Nine came, and Helen dallied until ten past before she gathered her purse and hat and made for the door.

"Ms. O'Reilly?" a concierge approached her just as she was about to go through. At her responding nod, he handed her a note, "Apologies for the late delivery. This came for you while you were taking breakfast."

Helen opened the note. _Helen, my sincere apologies for missing breakfast. I am safe, although I am most likely now in a meeting with my superiors. You can decide for yourself if dissatisfied superiors merits complete safety for my person. I agree with the sentiments you wrote in your note, and I, too, look forward to when we can do either again as well. Until such time, I wish you health, safety, and joy. I certainly hope it won't be another five years before we see each other again. Affectionately, Theseus_

Helen smiled, thanked the concierge, and continued her way through the door to the waiting taxi. She somehow knew that it wouldn't be another five years. But Helen also knew that WHEN they saw each other again it would most assuredly be in as strange and surprising a way as was their usual. That seemed to be the trend with Theseus and Helen liked it that way.


	5. If I Never See You Again

_While the Lindy Hop didn't really take to dance halls until 1928, this story takes place in 1927. Sorry for the very late update. Been working on other works and living life. Thanks for the reviews and support! Cheers!_

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Theseus stood in awe of her grace and beauty; how she moved among the crowds of people as a woman both within and apart from them all. No, not apart, above. She was above them all, and while she knew it, she did not lord it over them. Theseus was aware of the dark times of her past, her unorthodox upbringing leading to an estrangement with members of her family, but the woman he knew was not the woman of that dark past. She was beautiful; she was forthright; she was strong and persevering, and she was relentless for standing up for what she believed. And Theseus trusted in her belief that they were meant for each other because he felt the same.

He had never known a woman like her, somehow so stunningly strong and so vulnerable when with the right person and in the right circumstances. Her magical powers matched his own and having an equal socially, magically, and mentally was a welcome change for Theseus. So often he'd been the superior one, and while in some fashion he found satisfaction in that, it was nice to be on equal footing with Leta.

"You're staring again."

Theseus smiled at his fiancé, "Am I not supposed to?"

"It isn't polite for a fiancée to monopolize the attentions of her fiancé whilst at soirees," Leta leaned up and kissed his cheek, "come find me in thirty minutes for another."

She extracted herself from his side, lightly pushing him towards the interior of the crowded room. They were only here because of him, or at least his past. The Ministry believed some leads could be found among the veterans from his old regiment and had mandated his attendance at the annual veterans' ball. Theseus had never attended these events, not because of a particular haunting from the War, but more from lack of time or opportunity. It helped to have Leta at his side. She fielded some of the more annoying questions when those who felt they knew him approached with a "friendly" interrogation. But she had a point: he would only find the leads if he took the time to mingle alone.

Carrying a half-drunk glass of champagne and resisting the urge to tug at the tight necktie completing his tuxedo, Theseus circulated through the rooms. Easing in and out of conversations, sometimes taking part and other times observing from a distance, he filed away names and faces to match his memories. Some were not in attendance because of weather or distance, and no one spoke of those who had taken their lives after the War. There would always be that fragile veneer of control for this group of people in society, ever threatened to shatter into insanity if pressed too hard.

Theseus turned and nearly dropped the glass when, in a movement that was as sudden as it was surprising, a woman pressed her lips to his, wrapping a hand around the back of his neck and placing the other on his shoulder. The kiss lasted but a moment but in the resulting blast of feeling and the scent of this woman, in particular, Theseus had vivid memories he'd kept buried rushing back full force and robbing him of breath. When she pulled away, Theseus was four years younger, naiver, innocent, and with an open future.

"Helen." Theseus reached out without thinking, brushing his fingers against the skin of her cheek.

She leaned into his touch, her smile warm and welcoming, "If I recall correctly, you did say you were looking forward to the next time we could do either." Theseus dropped his hand and tipped his head to the side, "Seeing and kissing, Theseus."

"Oh," Theseus laughed and surprised himself when he felt his cheeks warm with embarrassment. Truly, no other woman had made him blush the way Helen did. "I'd forgotten. Sorry."

Helen shrugged and moved back to a more socially appropriate distance. "Four years can do that. I've never seen you attend these before, and I've come every year, so I couldn't help but seize on the opportunity when I saw you wandering alone over here."

"Yes, I felt it was time to come." Theseus downed the last of his champagne, suddenly wishing for something stronger. "It has been far too long-" His words faltered when he spied Leta talking with one of the supposed leads across the crowded room. While there was no apparent danger, one could never be too careful. Theseus looked around, trying to find the quickest way to Leta's side. Sadly, the only way would be across the dance floor, but that would draw too much attention and-

"Scamander," Theseus winced and looked down to where Helen pinched his arm, "I can tell you're looking for a strategic out. Now, is the out because you don't want to talk to me, or is it because you're on another mission?"

"Pardon?" Theseus drew back. How could she know he was here on a mission unless she was a part of the leads they sent him to track down, and his cover had been blown?

Helen rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips, "The last time we met, you goon, we had to throw off those buffoons with some play-acting. You weren't very forthright with all your smoke and mirrors act then, and it seems you're still in with that life now." She tensed and moved closer, looking around the room in the same fashion as he. "Do we need to snog again?"

He could tell she was half in jest and half serious and he mentally berated himself for thinking, even for a moment, that she was anything but genuine and innocent. Theseus sighed and shook his head, forcing a playful smile.

"No, no snogging necessary." He looked back to the dance floor and saw the lead starting to lead Leta into one of the adjoining rooms. He needed to get over there fast. "However, I do need to get to the other side of the room as quickly as possible."

An upbeat and near scandalous rhythm began from the musician stand and Helen grinned, holding out her hand, "I'm game."

Despite the gravity of the situation, Theseus laughed as he accepted her invitation and let her lead him to the dance floor. It was one of the newer dance styles and he hoped Helen had a better clue than he how to follow the steps, otherwise, this ploy would backfire.

"Don't worry, spy boy," Helen leaned close and whispered against the sensitive skin below his ear, "I know how to Lindy. Just follow my lead. And don't drop me."

Theseus stammered, "Drop you?"

Helen's laugh combined with the raucous music as they fell in line with the rest of the dancers. The dance was indeed as scandalous as the music, and more than once Helen laughed when most other women would've cried when he failed to commit fully to a lift or a twirl because of his ignorance. Theseus allowed himself to be pulled into the jovial nature of the song and the effervescent quality of his dance partner for a few refrains. It felt good to see her again, to touch her again, but there was no returning to what he was or who he'd been when they'd last seen another.

"Think we could," he panted near her ear over the din of the music, "adjust our dance to fall off the dance floor over there?" He indicated the side of the dance floor closest to where Leta had disappeared.

Helen smirked, "Your wish." She grabbed his hand, forced a twirl, then popped out on the other side than what he had been expecting, tossing them both off balance and off the dance floor, into the crowd at the edge. She laughed as the crowd reabsorbed them; they were all too drunk to care at the sudden intrusion. "Is my command."

"Thank you." He continued to pant. For all its crazed steps, that dance was a good exercise regime. "Now I need-"

"There you are Theseus." Leta reappeared from among the crowd, immediately moving to stand beside him, tucking her arm into his, and leaning up to kiss his cheek. She hesitated when she saw lipstick on his lips, using her gloved finger to wipe it off. Then she turned to look at Helen. Leta looked between her stained fingertip and Helen's lips. Helen did not look ashamed enough to suit Leta, if the building scowl was any sign to Theseus. "And you are?"

"An old war buddy of Theseus's." Helen snagged a glass of champagne from a passing server, grabbed one for Theseus as well, and held it out to him. "Helen O'Reilly."

Leta took and sipped at it before handing it on to Theseus, "War buddy? Fascinating." Theseus heard the edge in Leta's voice and knew he would have a lot of explaining and apologizing to do later. He'd never told Leta about Helen. Hadn't felt the need to. At least not until now.

"Yes," Helen downed her glass in one go then grabbed another from another waiter. She sipped at this one, her smile not quite reaching her eyes, "Not exactly the word I'd use to describe what went on over there." Theseus inwardly winced as he watched Helen drain this glass and again reach for another. When she faced them again, she looked back to Theseus, "I feel proper introductions are in order, Scamander. I'm already on my third and I've not a clue what to call your friend."

"Fiancee." Leta corrected before Theseus could answer, and he watched Helen's eyes widen and heard the slight intake of breath that resulted in choking when the champagne Helen had been sipping at went down the wrong pipe.

"Oh dear," Leta pulled a silken kerchief from her clutch and handed it to Helen when she doubled over and coughed, trying to rid her lungs of the liquid. "Are you going to be alright?"

"Yes," Helen's voice was warped because of her coughing, and had it been any other circumstance Theseus would've found the sound of it amusing. "I'll be just fine." She gasped in a steadying breath, stalwartly avoiding eye contact with Theseus. "Right as rain in but a moment." She finally looked back to Theseus, "Do go on, finish the introductions."

"Helen O'Reilly," Theseus spoke as if an automaton, "this is Leta Lestrange, my fiancée. Leta, Helen was one of the doctors who served with my regiment during the War. We haven't seen each other in around four years, and she was teaching me how to do one of these new dances."

"I thought you didn't know how to dance." Leta lightly slapped his chest, leaning into his side as she smiled back at Helen. "He's been dreading our wedding dance. Or so he's told me."

Helen nodded, "I'm sure. I've never been keen on the formal dances myself." She sipped at the champagne. "When's the big day?"

"Next year," Leta held out her hand, showing Helen the ring, "I'm surprised Theseus hasn't invited you." She sent Theseus a fake scowl and clicked her tongue at him, "For shame."

"I didn't know where to reach her," Theseus lied and only Helen knew it, "and it has been four years since we last spoke."

Leta reached up and wiped the other side of Theseus' mouth, 'Was it just speaking?"

He could tell the smile was forced when it didn't reach Helen's eyes, "The kiss was a four-year coming joke, Miss Lestrange. So don't worry any about your fiancé turning into a lecherous rogue," The quality did turn genuine then, "I've always known Theseus to be a man of integrity and honor, and I'm sure such things don't change easily."

"No," Leta softened the tone of her voice and leaned her head against Theseus' shoulder, "they don't change easily."

Theseus wanted to apologize and yet didn't know what he needed to apologize for. Helen had been the one to surprise him with a kiss; although, to be fair, the last time they'd seen each other it had been he who had kissed her without preamble, so she was correct in the fulfilling of a years' old jest. He didn't know if he needed to apologize to Helen for not mentioning Leta sooner or to Leta for never having spoken about Helen before. Because, if he were completely honest with himself, Helen was THE only other woman in his life he'd felt equal with and drawn to. Though she had no magic, and it seemed his magic did odd things around her, he'd always felt at ease with her. Neither superior nor inferior, and yet not exactly equal. Just, different.

"Now," Helen finished her champagne and frowned, "I'm tired of this water and am going in search of the real stuff." She held out her hand and Leta gracefully took it. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Lestrange. I wish you joy." She turned to Theseus and while her smile remained genuine, gone was some warmth he'd grown accustomed to seeing. "Try and stay out of trouble, Theseus. And if we never meet again, since you so rarely pop up these days, I wish you all the health and happiness in the world."

She weaved through the crowds faster than he thought possible, and Theseus felt keenly an absence in his heart he'd not been aware of before. Leta squeezed his elbow, and he patted her hand.

"Don't worry, I'll tell you more about her later."

Leta smiled, "I wouldn't let you do otherwise."

Theseus looked into the room Leta had come from and spied the lead again. He frowned.

"That man you were speaking to not twenty minutes ago," Theseus led Leta away from the precarious edge of the dance floor, "the one who led you to the balcony, what were two talking about?"

Theseus resisted the urge to look around for another glimpse of Helen. It would be foolish and perhaps unhealthy to wish to see her again. He loved Leta, truly, and dearly, and there was no room for the strange mixture of emotions he held for Helen in their future. It was indeed best that they never meet again. Though that truth pained him.


End file.
